“Who owns you?” I asked.
“Surely Master knows,” she said.
“Your collar is unmarked,” I said.
“I am a camp slave,” she said, “owned by the Pani.”
“You were a fool to run away,” I said. “Why did you run away?”
“It seems,” she said, “because I am a fool.”
“You have been a nuisance,” I said.
“Forgive me,” she said, “for any inconvenience I may have caused Master.”
“You are a mediocre slave,” I said.
“Not every man finds me so,” she said.
“Ordinary, quite average,” I said.
“I suspect Master did not always find me so. If I am not mistaken, I owe my presence on this world, and my collar, to Master.”
“So do many others,” I said. “And many better.”
“It was my knees which were forced apart by Master Genserich or Master Aeson,” she said.
“You do not know by which one?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “I kept my head down. I am a slave.”
“I trust you understand that,” I said.
“It has been well taught to me,” she said.
“The other slaves’ knees were not forced apart?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“I gather you find that noteworthy,” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Are you a vain slave?” I asked.
“Are not all slaves vain?” she asked.
I supposed that was true, for they were women. And why should women not be vain, as they are so precious, desirable, and beautiful? How can men not lust for them, and make them slaves? What pallid, inert fool would not wish to own one? Whose blood would be so weak that he would not see them as the natural property of men? And what woman was more entitled to her vanity than the female slave, the female of females, selected by connoisseurs for the block? It was no wonder free women hated her so. Was her very presence not a reproach to less attractive women? Was not the collar itself a badge of her quality, the brand seared into her thigh an indelible certification of her desirability? Does her very presence not say, “I have been found exciting, attractive, desirable, and beautiful, so much so that men will have me in a collar”?
“Are you a saucy slave?” I asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
“A whip can quickly take that out of a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
My hand moved to the disrobing loop on her tunic. A jerk would drop it to her thighs, and, should she stand, it would be about her ankles. Girls are taught to step gracefully from such a tunic. I did not doubt but what she would do so, as well. It might be interesting to see.
“Do not strip me,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“You do not own me,” she said.
“You might look well without your tunic,” I said.
“You do not own me,” she said.
“You are a camp slave,” I said, “and I am of the camp. It may be done with you as I please.”
Surely she had seen girls on the dock hooted at, seized, and caressed as workers pleased, and, often enough, as a joke, stripped on the boards. Some rushed away in tears, but others posed provocatively, and then fled away, laughing. The public taking of a slave had been forbidden by the Pani. There were slave houses for such things. If paga was prohibited on the dock, for fear it might compromise or slow work, it was not surprising that the “ka-la-na” of the collar girl should be prohibited, as well.
“We are not in the camp,” she said.
“It does not matter,” I said.
“Please do not strip me,” she said. “Have you not done enough? I am before you on my knees!”
“Where you belong,” I said.
“You have made me beg to eat from your hand as a slave.”
“As the slave you are,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “as the slave I am!”
“You understand you are a slave?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Have you any doubts on the matter?”
“No, Master.”
“Are you modest?” I asked.
“A slave girl is not permitted modesty,” she said.
“So, are you modest?” I said.
“No!” she said. “But please do not strip me.”
“Very well,” I said.
She seemed startled, and then angry, furious. I smiled, and turned away, to return the pail, and the remaining pellets, to Aeson.
“I hate you!” she called after me.
Bundles were laid in a line, and ready to be distributed. I noted there were seven.
The hands of the former Panther Girls had been unbound, but they remained kneeling, on the neck rope.
Perhaps they envied the other slaves their tunics. I considered removing the tunic from one of the other slaves. That can be useful as a discipline. But, too, not removing a slave’s tunic, when she expects to be stripped and boldly surveyed, perhaps for the pleasure of a master or to conjecture a likely block price, can be disconcerting, even dismaying, if not insulting, to a slave. Is she not worth regarding? Is she of so little interest?
“Please approach,” called Genserich to me, from across the camp.
In the hands of Genak, who stood beside him, with some others, there were two lengths of cord. Axel was with them.
“Do not resist,” said Genserich to Axel. “The sleen might be agitated.”
Axel’s hands were tied behind his back.
I submitted, similarly, and Genak, with the second length of cord, was tying my hands behind me. A rope was then put on our necks, to keep us together.
The sleen gave no more thought to this than to other events in the camp. I was confident, however, that if Axel had cried out, or fought, the sleen, perhaps startled or confused, might have become active, presumably to the end of its own destruction and, most likely, that of some others.
“Please, forgive us, noble guests,” said Genserich, “but we would not wish to risk losing you in the forest. I am sure you understand.”
“Quite,” said Axel.
“Be ready,” called Aeson to those about. “We depart shortly.”
I saw one of Genserich’s men approach, from outside the camp. He bore two light hunting spears, and two belts, with swords and daggers, presumably those of Axel and myself.
“Get away from me,” I said, suddenly, angrily.
She was near to me, too near.
I had not commanded this.
“Ah,” she said, sympathetically, “poor Master is helpless, as helpless as a slave.”
I tried to tear apart my wrists, but the several twists of the cord only ground the more deeply into my wrists.
“And he is on a neck rope,” she said.
How close she was to me!
“Away!” I told her.
“Do not be afraid, noble Master,” she purred. “The proximity of a lowly, mediocre kajira, an ordinary, average kajira, a meaningless collar girl, one of no interest to you, will be without effect; doubtless it will not even be noticed.”
I did not speak.
Her head was lifted to mine. She brushed back her hair, behind her shoulders. I supposed they teach them that.
I feared her lips, those soft lips, those of a female slave, a property girl, goods which exist for the pleasure of men, might touch my face.
There was little I could do, bound as I was, should this take place, save perhaps cry out with rage.
But they did not, but were less than a hort away.
“Fortunately I am of no interest to handsome Master,” she said. “Otherwise he might find my presence disturbing.”
“Away,” I said.
“Am I too close to Master?” she asked. “I trust not.”
I did not respond to her.
“There is nothing to fear,” she said. “I am less than nothing, only a lowly, unimportant kajira.”
“Beware,” I said.
“Surely I must kneel to beg forgiveness,” she said, and she swiftly knelt. “Behold,” she said, “I am at your feet. I kneel. I humbly press my lips to your feet. I humbly press my lips to your calf. I cling to your leg. I beg forgiveness for being of no interest to Master. I kiss and lick your thigh, hoping that you will forgive my mediocrity, my ordinariness, my lack of interest.”
“Away!” I cried. She might have melted a stone. I would have fought a hundred men to get a chain on her. What I would have given to have her leaping, frightened, to the snap of my whip.
She sprang up, backed away, and laughed. “You did not expect this,” she said, “long ago, in a great store, on a far world! But I am now collared. I have learned much. Be miserable, mighty Master! I am Mistress! I am kajira!”
“She-urt, she-tarsk!” I said.
“But not your she-urt or she-tarsk!” she laughed.
I struggled with the cords on my wrists.
“Clearly,” she laughed, backing away another step, “Master finds a slave of interest!”
“No!” I cried, in fury.
“Do you think a slave does not know when a master finds her of interest?” she said.
“I would that I had you in my collar!” I said.
“But you do not,” she said.
“I would treat you as you deserve, and then cast you into the markets!”
“How fortunate for me,” she said, “that I do not belong to Master.”
She then spun about, laughing merrily, and hurried away.
Tula and Mila, to one side, watched her, frightened.
“That slave,” said Axel, looking after her, “is a bold slave.”
“Too bold,” I said.
“It is easy to be bold with a fellow who is helpless,” he said.
“Too easy,” I said.
“As I recall,” he said, “you regarded her as inferior, and of little interest.”
“And I do so regard her now,” I said.
“You did admit, as I recall,” he said, “that she might be of some interest, to some men.”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“But not to you?”
“No,” I said.
“I watched,” remarked Genserich, who was nearby.
“Why did you not interfere?” I asked.
“I thought she might do well as a torture slave,” he said. “It could make a difference in her price.”
A torture slave, as is well known, is a slave trained to arouse, humiliate, frustrate, and then deny a male prisoner. Some captains, commanders, Ubars, and such, utilize the services of such a slave, usually for the pleasure of witnessing the discomfiture and misery of some hated enemy. Irons, knives, and cords are not the only means by which a helpless enemy may be tormented.
“But I do not think she is in her heart a torture slave,” said Genserich. “Few women are, particularly when collared.”
“Then she must hate our friend very much,” said Axel.
“Yes,” said Genserich, “or something.”
I did not understand this qualification. I did find it amusing that the slave might hate me. It is pleasant to take such a woman and caress her into weeping, begging submission, and then do with her what one wishes.
Genserich turned to Aeson. “Call in the guard,” he said, “align and burden the slaves, we march within the Ehn.”
“Noble Genserich,” said Axel, “a moment.”
“Speak,” said Genserich.
“About my neck,” said Axel, “as is known to several, say, Aeson and Genak, and some others, hangs a small musical instrument, a whistle, which few can sound. As you are a large, strong fellow, and leader, he of most prowess we must assume, I wager that only you, of all in the camp, could sound the instrument.”
“Are you mad?” said Genserich. “We must march.”
“I wager you cannot sound the instrument,” I said.
“And I that you can,” said Axel.
“You are both mad,” said Genserich, and he turned away.
“It would be most impressive to the men could you do so,” called Axel.
But Genserich was then busied elsewhere.
“That was a rather far-fetched, and somewhat desperate, plan,” I said to Axel.
“True,” said Axel. “Have you a better?”
“No,” I said.
“Perhaps you might recommend that I have Tiomines chew through the cords?” said Axel, unpleasantly.
“Is that practical?” I asked.
“Certainly,” said Axel, “first rub the cords with tarsk grease, and then be prepared to lose at least one hand.”
“You need not be disagreeable,” I said.
“You are in an ill humor from the attentions of the slave,” he said.
“Not I,” I said.
“Your position,” said Genak, “will be between the new slaves and the others.”
“Rather,” I said, “let it be behind all the slaves.”
“Very well,” said Genak.
“You wish to be behind a certain slave,” said Axel, “she who is last in line.”
“Yes,” I said. “And let her know that I am behind her, and observe each step she takes.”
“Hopefully she will bear her burden gracefully, and well,” he said.
“I trust so,” I said.
“And if she does not?” he said.
“That would be called to the attention of Genserich,” I said, “with suitable repercussions to her pretty hide.”
“Then you admit she has a pretty hide?” he said.
“It will do,” I said.
“I think it is quite pretty,” he said.
“It will do,” I said, “for that of a slave.”
“Slaves have the prettiest of hides,” he said.
“At least the most visible,” I said.
“I fear the question is moot,” he said. “Would that we were not bound.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Look ahead,” he said.
Blocking the projected exit from the camp were six men, two with leveled crossbows, quarrels waiting in the guides, like patient snakes. “Hold,” said Rorton, raising his hand, palm forward.
The attackers had an original force of fifteen men. Six were before us, in a menacing posture, including Rorton. Two guards were to be recalled from the forest, and one of Genserich’s men had gone to bring them in. There were only two crossbows amongst the attackers, and it seemed that both of these were at the disposal of Rorton. This left six facing six, save that the men of Genserich lacked the readiness of the guide-set quarrel, poised to be instantly flighted. I did not know the likely allegiance of the three out of the camp. I did know that there had been uneasiness amongst several of the men at the decision of Genserich to spare the former prisoners. Neither Axel nor I, bound and on our rope, would be likely to figure in any resolution of what might be in the offing.
“Stay where you are, and reach for no weapon!” said Rorton. “The first to draw a weapon or lift a spear dies.”
“Put aside your weapons,” said Genserich. “Take your place in line.”